Spring Fever
by TinyTerrorJustBecause
Summary: Amaya Black was the resident psychologist for the Avengers. She had been with them for three years now, and thought she had seen it all. Bucky Barnes is brought in by Steve Rogers, and Amaya is faced with a whole new challenge. Can she save Bucky from his eternal winter?
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first story on here, so constructive criticism is accepted, and please review! I want to hear what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, just my characters.**

He was unused to the energy around him. People milling around and talking without a care. The air free of malicious intent and orders. He was free to think and he didn't know what scared him more. His freedom to think, or the dark thoughts that tainted the precious freedom. Sky blue eyes flickered around, nervous energy surrounding him like a bubble as he tapped his fingers against the tabletop. Eyes shifted to him warily, one deep blue another dark brown, as he fidgeted. The hushed whispers too low for him to hear, and he briefly wondered if this was a good idea. What if he had an attack? What if he lost control? What if the Soldier came back? He didn't want to hurt anyone. Especially not-

"Buck?"

A deep voice shattered his spiraling thoughts, and he turned to the owner of the voice. He licked his dry lips, offering a nervous half smile. "Yeah Stevie?"

The super soldier smiled down at his friend, before motioning to the person behind him. "It's time for your appointment."

Bucky's eyes settled on the petite figure behind his friend, and he frowned. "I can't do it, Steve." He shook his head, and Steve frowned, the expression seemingly permanent on his face as he dealt with his friend.

"Yes you can, Buck. You'll be just fine." The brunette narrowed his eyes, and motioned to the woman beside Steve. "If I have an episode-"

"You won't."

"If I do," He seethed, annoyed at the interruption. "She could be hurt. Look at her Steve. She wouldn't stand a chance if the soldier came back." Bucky protested, and Steve was silent for a moment. He had a point, but the blond really wished his friend was just being paranoid. The programming was still there. He could snap back at any time if he felt threatened, or if she asked the wrong questions.

Finally, Steve nodded. "Alright then. I'll just have to sit in the room with you." He stood up straighter, while Bucky frowned deeper.

He didn't like the idea of his best friend, who he was really just starting to remember, being hurt because the Soldier came back, but he didn't have a choice. It was either have Steve take a few hits and end up with a bruise, or have her take a few hits and end up dead. So finally, he acquiesced.

"You're right." He stood up, and looked his friend in the eyes.

"The appointment is an hour long, and you come in on a scheduled time every Friday morning at 10 am. Any other time you need to come talk, you can just knock on the door. I'll have a sign up if I'm with a patient." The woman, his psychologist, told him. Her soft voice reached his ears, pulling his attention to her. She was very petite, no taller than 5'3, which he easily dwarfed. Her dark blue pants suit fit her perfectly, highlighting feminine curves and making him realize just how bad an idea this was, should he lose it. She was so small, that as she walked up to him and took his hand to guide him into her office, he almost felt the need to bend over slightly so he wouldn't feel so big.

She sat him down on a couch, while she sat down on a chair and Steve sat beside him, shield already deposited by his left hand. He didn't miss how she didn't sit between him and the door, but sat across from him. How she shuffled restlessly in her seat for a second before pushing her dark curls out of her face, and pushing her glasses up. She was just as nervous as he was. Who could blame her? But as she began flipping through his file, legs crossed and shuffling uneasily, he had a feeling Steve was going to have to accompany him for a long time.

She began with the usual questions. Did he remember his name? Did he remember Steve? Did he have nightmares every night or just every other night? His head spun with so many questions, but he answered them all honestly. She tapped her pen against her clipboard, one leg crossed as she studied him intently. It wasn't like the other doctors he had visited. The ones that scrutinized him as if he was a lab rat. Just like HYDRA had. No. Her look was gentle, her dark eyes holding understanding that he found almost unnerving.

"Okay Sergeant Barnes. I'm going to ask you a few more questions. If you get uncomfortable with any of them, I will stop. And I will not ask again." She flipped a page on her clipboard, and he swallowed thickly, before agreeing. "Alright then. Do you remember being captured during the war?"

He flinched, and his temper flared, as well as his fear. He could feel the Soldier shifting in his head, as if waking up. "Yes."

She pursed her plump lips, writing something down quickly. "Do you remember Steve rescuing you?" She asked, and he relaxed a little, able to focus on something remotely better.

"Yes."

She clipped a nod, writing something else down before she set the clipboard on her lap. She put both feet on the floor, leaning forward on her wheeled swivel chair as she stared him directly in the eye, not batting an eyelash as she took a deep breath. "Do you remember the fall?"

He tensed, and Steve did as well. He felt the Soldier twitch, threatening to wake up and lash out, and he ground his teeth together as he clenched his fists, the plates shifting with a malicious promise. She leaned back in her chair, quickly pushing away as she wrote something down.

"Bucky, calm down." Steve commanded, nervous about who he could be facing in the next second.

Bucky took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing, but not succeeding. He hated being like this. So on edge and out of control that even a simple question, a harmless question at that, could threaten the ghost of control he had over the Soldier.

"Bucky, you need to calm down." Steve commanded, reaching for his shield in case things got ugly.

The former assassin tried. He really did. But he felt like he was suffocating, his control going as he sat there, the Soldier stirring like a sleeping dragon. He had to get out. And he had to get out now. He stood up, startling the petite doctor, and stormed out the room. Steve stood up and hurried after him with a swift apology to the young woman who was sitting behind her desk, clutching the gun under the desk in her hand.

She breathed a sigh of relief as they left, the door closing tightly behind the good captain as she slumped against her desk, the cool wood suddenly cooling her feverish skin. "I am way out of my league here." She breathed, trying to calm her racing heart. She wondered, for the umpteenth time, why in the world she agreed to take a job with the Avengers.


	2. Chapter 2: Demons

**Thank you all so much for favoriting and following! You don't know how much it means you actually like my story!**

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Bucky stormed down the hall, Steve hot on his trail as he tried to calm the torrent of memories that threatened his limited control. He pushed past people, not seeing them as his eyes were clouded with the images of experiments and scientists.

"Bucky!" Steve called, trying to snap him out of it.

Bucky wasn't listening. He couldn't hear Steve. The super soldier grabbed the former assassin by his arm, his right arm, and tried to snap him out of it. But it only made it worse. Bucky whirled, his eyes blank as snow, his metal fist swinging out at Steve's face. He ducked, holding up the shield as metal hit metal, the sound ringing like a gong.

"Bucky it's me! It's Steve!" He shouted, trying to get him to come back. He looked over his shield, locking eyes with the brunette as he blinked slowly.

Emotion seeped into Bucky's pale blue eyes as he frowned. "Steve?" He breathed, a soft whisper among the chaos of his mind.

"Yeah Buck. It's me." Bucky frowned deeper, staring at where his fist was still on the shield. It clicked, and he was backing up faster than he registered. "Bucky, it's okay." Steve tried to reach him, but he backed up out of his reach.

"No it's not. It will never be okay as long as I still have _him_ in my head." Bucky seethed, glaring at his hands. One metal, one flesh. The very reminder of the past seventy years under HYDRA's control. Seventy years that were scattered around in his mind.

"I understand that Buck. I really do. But if you let me help you, let her help you..."

Bucky laughed darkly, a cruel, spiteful sound. "Her? Doctor Black? What could she possibly do besides get hurt by me?" He clenched his fists, the metal whirring angrily. The rage he felt towards himself and HYDRA could rival the Hulk.

"You won't hurt her Bucky. You're a good guy." Steve tried, but it only made Bucky glare at him.

" _He's_ not a good guy Steve. _THE SOLDIER_ doesn't care who he hurts."

"Then I'll be there to stop him." Steve assured him; his 'Captain' face on as he stood up straighter.

He took a single step, and Bucky's heated glare turned cold. "And if you're not?" He demanded, and Steve paused.

He was unsure of what would happen, but he wanted to be positive. Although, the little voice in the back of his head whispered a possibility that left him speechless with anxiety.

"That's what I thought." Bucky turned on his heel, and left the blonde super soldier standing in the hallway, neither of them wanting to think of the outcome.

Doctor Black was sitting in her office, meditating to calm her nerves. Her heart was still racing from the adrenaline rush. Her mind kept looping back to the last thirty minutes, trying to figure out exactly what she triggered when she asked about the fall. Was it his demons or his memories? But when your demons are your memories, is your mind safe anymore? She sighed through her nose, trying to work through everything she learned. Nothing she learned could really prepare her for this. It was going to take more than just her training. It was going to take a lot of faith, prayer, and maybe some pixie dust for good luck to help the former assassin through his rehabilitation, however long that took. She looked out the window, staring at the New York skyline as she frowned.

"But how do I help someone who can't close their eyes?" She pondered aloud, seeking answers from the fat clouds.

A knock on the door broke her train of thought, and she shakily got up from the floor. She put her black flats back on, and took a deep breath before making her way to the door. She put her hand on the knob, a thrill of fear chilling her, before she shoved it down and opened the door. Thor was standing there, shuffling in place.

"Thor?" She asked, and he cleared his throat.

"Lady Amaya, I ask for your help." He looked nervous and unsure, his large frame making it almost comical.

"Of course Thor." She stepped aside, letting him in.

"Thank you." He breathed in relief, before sitting in the exact same place Sergeant Barnes sat in before.

It made her panic for a second before shoving the silly thought out of her mind. "So, what can I do for you?" She asked, sitting down in her chair across from him.

He pursed his lips, folding his hands tightly as he looked at her with worried blue eyes. "It's about what happened in Asgard." Thor murmured, and she frowned.

"You had the nightmare again didn't you?" She asked, watching as the thunder god's eyes watered.

"Yes. It was about my mother. She, she died right in front of me. I couldn't move. I was frozen in place no matter how hard I tried to get to her...Then suddenly, she was in my arms. Bleeding out and I couldn't stop it. It kept changing and changing and changing. But every time, I could never save her."

Her heart twisted for him. She knew she was supposed to be professional. She wasn't supposed to even so much as wipe away their tears. But Thor needed her dammit, and it wouldn't have been the first time she broke the rules either. She got up from her seat, crossing the floor in quick strides, before she straddled Thor's lap. He stared at her through the tears on his lashes, and she wiped the ones on his cheeks away, as best as her small hands could. No words were spoken, just a small comforting smile from her and his large arms wound around her. Crushing her to him as he cried in her hair, unable to face the grief that plagued him at night.

"I lost them. I lost mother. I lost Loki. I almost lost Jane." He whined, his deep voice choked with tears as the sky outside started mimicking his mood.

Once again, she did not offer words of comfort. Nothing could console Thor when he was like this. She was only a small comfort to him at the moment. She let him hold her as long as he needed, his tears falling into her curly black hair. She ran her fingers through his long hair, playing with the blond locks of the Asgardian prince. They sat there for a while, as Thor spoke in broken sentences and sobs. It was one of the many times she wished she could take away their pain, and envied them. One last sniffle from Thor pulled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up at him as he pulled away from her.

"Thank you, Lady Amaya." He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"You're welcome Thor."

He slid her off his lap, and stood up. He looked down at her, patting her head, before walking back out. An ache settled deep in her chest. For the last three years, this always happened. So why isn't she used to it by now? She sighed, grabbing her phone and dialing the number she knew by heart.

 _"Hello?"_ A gruff voice answered, and she took a deep breath.

"It's Amaya. I want the usual. Tonight at 10 o'clock."

 _"You got it doll."_

The person hung up, and Amaya stared at the closed door of her office. Loneliness is a demon no one should have to meet.


	3. Chapter 3: Waking the Ghosts

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The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed across the room. Grunts and groan hummed through the air as both parties reached their completion. I collapsed against the chest of the man I was riding, I think his name was Dylan? Cute kid. Black hair, blue eyes, and pale. Didn't talk much. Just how I like them. I rolled myself over, laying on the bed beside him as we both caught our breath.

He ran a hand through his black hair that stuck to his forehead. "Can I use your shower?" His light voice sounded raspy.

"Yeah. You know where it is."

He nodded his thanks, before slipping out of bed beside me. I sighed, watching as he went to use the guest shower in the apartment. I lived in the tower along with everyone else, which meant my own floor. I got a master bedroom for myself, and a guest bedroom. Each with their own separate shower. I grabbed my clothes, ignoring the used condoms in the trash can, and pulled out my wallet. I put the normal amount on his pants, before trudging to my room to take my own shower.

Steam soon filled the room as I stepped under the spray, washing him off my skin. But it seemed to me, no matter how hard I scrubbed, some things just couldn't wash off. Angrily, I turned off the shower. I wrapped a towel around myself as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, wiping the steam off. My skin was raw and beads of blood started pooling in different places on my shoulders and décolletage. I felt the angry tears swell as memories pooled in my mind. Anger. Violence. Years of bullying and neglect. I slammed my hands against the wall, trying to steady my heavy breathing. I was feeling dizzy, lightheaded. I grabbed another towel and dried my hair as I stormed out of the bathroom, the sound of the front door slamming shut my only cue the man had left. I took in a deep breath, before making my way to my bedroom. I grabbed my lilac silk robe, dropping the towel and wrapping the fine fabric around myself. I looked out the window, to see a clear and starless night. I missed seeing the stars. I grew up in a small town in the south. At night, nothing could block out the stars except the clouds. Here, the lights were bright enough to mimic, but never the same.

I searched for my glasses, having put them down before going in the shower. I finally found them on the floor, and put them back on. Thoughts burned through my mind that I desperately tried to block out with sex, but it only lasted for so long. I silently made my way to my kitchen, pulling out my stash of hard liquor, and lighting a cigarette. I sat on my balcony, shivering in the chilled night air as I took a drag, breathing it out before taking a long drink of my vodka. It was one of those nights every shadow threatened to strangle me.

Bright light burned my eyes as I rolled over, groaning from my headache. Drinking last night was a seriously bad idea, but it washed away the pain briefly. Now, it was back with a vengeance. The physical pain anyway. And to make it worse, my alarm decided to go off, loud and obnoxious in my ear. I slammed it off, curling back under the covers for a little bit to try and ease my headache. When I realized it wasn't going away, and when my stomach started growling, I decided it was time to get up. The memories don't plague me during the day. I moved too much during the day to fester in my thoughts.

I grabbed a mug to fix myself a cup of coffee, fixing just enough to fill a third of my mug before adding milk and sugar in the rest. A splash of hot coffee scalded my hand, and I hissed, cursing. When I looked down at my hand, I saw a cigarette burn. Tears streamed down my face as I screamed, and I heard a voice I hadn't heard in years. _"Shut up you godforsaken whore!"_ I was drawn out of it by the sound of the mug shattering on the floor, and hot liquid splashing on my bare feet. I hissed, walking back and seeing my feet were only red. No damage. Same with my hand. I shook my head, gripping my arms to try and work through this mess in my head. I would have to clean that up before work. But for right now, I just needed to breathe.

Tony was first that morning, talking around what was really bugging him before I threatened to hide his coffee. He paled, and told me what was bothering him. It was routine for us. Natasha came in an hour later, haunting memories of the Red Room plaguing her in her sleep. She's been having nightmares ever since Wanda screwed with her head. I think Wanda was the worst though. She would see ghosts of her brother everywhere. Even a breeze would send her into a relapse where she couldn't function properly. Everybody was a mess. Maybe that was why I agreed to work here. Nobody would bother me.

Around lunchtime, I was able to take a break. I expected it to be boring as usual. But halfway through, I accidentally sliced my finger. Blood welled up from the shallow cut, and I was thrust into another nightmare. _"Shut up you slut! Stop crying!"_ I was being beaten with a broken beer bottle until I was bloody. For what, I don't know. I will probably never know. _"Goddammit Amaya! Shut the hell up!"_ I was being strangled. I couldn't breathe. I tried to gasp for air, but I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried. It was like breathing through a straw. I was trying to back away from the bottle, when I was falling backwards. My head hit the floor hard, jarring me from my memory as my head spun.

"Ow." I moaned, and rubbed my head. "Fuck that hurt." I rolled to my side, my legs falling onto the floor with a solid thunk.

I groaned as I pushed myself up, going to the bathroom in my office. I dug through the cabinet with one hand to find my first aid kit, and breathed in relief as I pulled it out. I cleaned my cut, before wrapping a bandage around it. I had no idea what was wrong with me. Why was I having these flashbacks? Why was I being trapped in that hell, if only in memory? I choked back a sob as I felt that helpless girl shrieking and banging against her cage in my head. I growled, tightening my fist. I had locked her away for a reason. And whatever triggered her, was going to have hell to pay.


End file.
